Rumors
by Cudae
Summary: A character study in grief and the psyche through Jack Sparrow's POV. Could be taken as AU, but it is up to the reader to decide what is real and what is not.
1. One

Title: Rumors

Author: Cúdae

Rating: PG

Summary:  A character study in grief and the psyche.  Could be taken as AU, but it is up to the reader to decide what is real and what is not.  

Main character: Jack Sparrow

Author's Note:  Meant to be a character study in the effects of grief on the mind and presence of Jack Sparrow.  You, as the reader, play a key role in this.  It is up to you to decide what it is that flows through Jack's mind and passes before his eyes.  As Gibbs said, reason has nothing to do with it.  Constructive criticism appreciated.

Disclaimer:  I do not own Jack Sparrow or William (Bootstrap Bill) Turner.  They are not my creations.  I am making no profit off this.

_Introduction…_

The sea is both gentle and deadly, more so than the forces of wind or earth.  Yet both wind and earth are formidable forces in their own right.  Together they may blend to wake the dead and throw the living to their knees in homage.  

So few understand this.  So many lose themselves to it.

The sea lures and lulls, the wind carries the sweet voices crying, and the earth murmurs of things that cannot be told with words.  If only, if only they could speak, they would have tales to tell.  Stories from the darkest depths of time.  Stories more frightening than any ghost tale and more beautiful than any child's fairytale.  The sea would beat the songs upon the earth and the earth would echo them into the sky and the sky would give them to the wind to carry to the people of the world.  

Together the tapestry would be made, telling the story of the world from birth to ending days and all who heard it would listen.  

Some fly on the wings of clouds.  Others pound the earth with their feet, beating out a rhythm to match the rhyme.  But still others sail.  They take to the waters and hear freedom's song.  Some it drives mad, others it drives sane. 

_Chapter One_…

He was sun burnt and hungry.  Rum was good, but food sounded far more appetizing.  He cursed the sun in the sky and the water.  He cursed the sand.  It would be his luck for a storm to come up and bring waves the size of ships down on top of him.  

This was Barbossa's fault.  He never should have let him have the position of first mate.  William would have been better.  And undoubtedly more trustworthy.   But he hadn't used sense when listening to Barbossa, thinking he was so old he'd die soon anyway.  Of course, that was foolish thinking, as Barbossa wasn't nearly as old as he looked, but Bill had never wanted power and Jack wasn't going to risk their friendship by giving it to him.  And now look where it had landed him.  Mutinied against, stranded, and starving.  But he had rum.  Maybe he could drink away the memories.

---

"What do you mean he's trapped?"

"Stuck!  Under the wood, y' know?"

"Stuck?  Jack's stuck?"

"I'M STUCK!"

"He's stuck."  The man confirmed unnecessarily.  The other sighed and went over to the ruins of the house.  Sure enough, the boy was stuck.  

"Jack… How did you get there?"

"Good question.  Don't have an answer for you.  Can you help me out, though?"

The boy pushed against the wood that was trapping him.  The older man shook his head.  He was cursed with a klutz for a son.  The boy should have learned by now not to walk over things that looked unstable, unsteady, rotting, tipping, or otherwise unsuitable for human feet.  In fact, it should have been common sense.

"Can you help me out now?"

The boy was pushing against the wood as hard as his ten year old strength allowed.  The man grabbed his shoulders and pulled, jerking him free with a grunt.  The boy scrambled to his feet and darted off back towards the ship.  The older man followed slower.  He would have to lose this boy somewhere.  The next port, perhaps, he could leave the useless thing.  He would hardly feel any remorse at doing so.  Since he had claimed the boy and brought him aboard the ship, things had gone ill.  Storms had taken their toll on the ship, throwing it against rocks and tearing their sails.  Hard-earned plunder had been found to be worthless.  Prisoners had escaped under their noses.  Jack was bad luck for them.  It would indeed be better to leave him.

"Father!  Look at this!"

The boy was standing on the dock of the ship, holding out a coin.  He had never seen one like it before and was fascinated with the designs on the front and back.  His father knew it to be virtually without worth, it was so common.  He took it from the boy's hand and threw it over the side.

"What-- What was that for, Father?"  The boy cried, anguished at seeing his personal treasure gone.

"It was worthless."  The man turned on his heel to go to the helm, but paused and looked back at the boy.  "Worthless like you."

---

He shut his eyes against the spray of salt water in his face.  Or maybe the salt water came from his eyes.  He couldn't tell anymore.  Curse Barbossa for leaving him here.  The Black Pearl was his by right!   Perhaps… no, William was never much of one for rising against leaders.  Even when the crew had gone against Jack, he stood aside, playacting the role to save his own head.  

Was it friendship or fear that halted him?

---

He was fourteen years old and hiding behind a pile of trash.  He did not want to admit it to anyone that passed by, but he had no home and no food.  Nor did he have any money.  He was a street urchin, condemned to scavenging shamefully.  

He'd taken to thieving.  The docks were as good as anything to steal from.  Cargoes from merchant ships were guarded, but not well and it was easy for him take things to sell later.  But it wasn't nearly enough.  

More than once he had thought of ending his life then and there.  He could steal a knife or a pistol from some wealthy man and put a stop to it all.  He would not have to worry about being hanged for theft, because he'd be dead after all.  He was worthless anyway. If he lived, they probably wouldn't even bother to hang him, just flog him to death for their own amusement.  

He dug through the stinking pile of waste until he found something that looked like an apple.  He bit into it.  Maggots invaded his mouth.  He coughed and vomited.  

---

The barrel of the pistol felt strange in his mouth.  Strangely comforting.  The sharp taste of metal and sand seemed to be calling to him.  His finger danced over the trigger.

---

 He was a scrawny sixteen year old.  Pirates had raided the city only days earlier and the place was still in chaos.  He relished in it.  He could walk into houses and simply take food and valuables.  He took his share of liquor too.  

But the chaos was starting to die down and people where starting to take notice of things gone missing.  He would be back to taking in the night soon.  And taking from rubbish. 

For awhile he had become the apprentice of a tailor, but that had not lasted long.  He had proved too much for the old man and his wife.  At least that's what they told him.  He knew he had hardly any skill in the trade, though.  He had hardly any skill at anything.  

He wandered down to the docks and gazed at the ships there.  If only he could get aboard one of those…  But he was a common criminal now and knew nothing of the seas.  It had been too long since he was last on them.  No crew would accept him and certainly no captain would have him.  He would be a waste of time.  He would be useless.

He curled up between some crates and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

The pounding of running feet woke him.  That and the body that landed on top of him moments later.  

"Argh!"  He cried in surprise and pain as the wind was forced out of him.

"Gah!"  The other cried as he realized someone else was there.  The flickering light of torches could be seen approaching.  The other put his hand over Jack's mouth.  "Don't make a sound."  He whispered.  Jack nodded, too stunned to fight back.  The other pressed his body against his.  He was larger than Jack and crushing him.  Jack stayed still and silent.  "Don't move," the other hissed.  Torchlight swept the area around them, casting deeper shadows over the place they hid.  Jack could feel more footsteps, some running.  He heard a shot ring out in the night.

Then all was silent.  The person on top of him pushed himself halfway up and looked about.  Then he climbed to his feet and nodded to Jack.  "Thanks for cushioning the fall," he said, a grin on his face.  Jack could see that he was a few years older than him and looked quite a bit stronger. 

"Who are you?" Jack asked.

---

He was William Turner.  In later years he became a good friend of Jack's.  Maybe too good of one.  It had been a strange meeting, with stranger results.  William was the son of a merchant and supposed to follow that road himself, which he did to all outward appearances.  But he had taken up with pirates and relished the lifestyle.  He brought Jack with him on many an adventure, until Jack found himself.  Then William returned to England, married some woman Jack vaguely remembered meeting once and thinking- but not voicing- that she was too small for William.  When Jack took over command of the Black Pearl, William joined him on it.  

Now William had a child.  He told only Jack that he named the child after himself and that he had lied blatantly that he was a merchant sailor to his wife.  She'd tell the child that and one day…  

William had never finished his thought that night and Jack had not pressed it.  But he kept the knowledge that William had a son close to his heart.  He was unsure why.

Suddenly Jack laughed.  Barbossa wasn't stupid, he knew of Jack and Will's friendship.  He'll probably try to kill ol' Bootstrap too.  Jack took a long drink from the bottle of rum.  If he got off this island, he'd find William and get him off his too.

Little did he know his friend wouldn't have the luxury of an island.  

---

The next day, Jack found himself rescued.  Two weeks later he was in Tortugas, listening for rumors of the Black Pearl.  He heard that they'd mutinied against the famed Jack Sparrow and said not a word of his true name.  Later he heard, over a mug of bad beer, that they'd killed Bootstrap Bill.  Some said they shot him in the head.  Others said they'd stabbed him through with his own sword.  And one other, a strange man no one had seen before, said they'd tied a canon to his boots and drowned him.  The man kept a hood low over his face, but Jack caught sight of a strange grin lighting on the stranger's face.  The grin looked familiar, but he couldn't place it.  Or maybe he didn't want to.

That night he mourned his friend in the only way he knew.

---

To be continued in Part Two.  


	2. Two

Title:  Rumors

Author: Cúdae

Rating: PG

Disclaimer:  I don't own Jack Sparrow, William (Bootstrap Bill) Turner, or most everything else I borrow from Disney.  I am not making any profit off this whatsoever.  

_Interlude…_

Some say that the voices of the dead speak to the living in things that surround them.  Others say they watch from the stars, or perhaps are the stars themselves.  And yet still others speak softly, saying the souls of the dead are bound until world's end, for forever there will be one who remembers their name.

_Chapter Two…_

He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to rest.  But the noise of the city kept him awake.  He would have passed on all the beautiful women and all the strong liquor in the world if he found a bed.  But he had nothing with which to pay for one.  There were, of course, other ways that did not involve the exchange of money.  But Jack could hardly see straight, let alone think straight enough to get himself a bed without paying for it.

He lost all strength for movement in a stable behind a tavern.  He collapsed unceremoniously into a rotting pile of hay, not caring about or not noticing the dung encased in it.  He had spent the past days running.  He ran over land and over sea.  He had gone from places familiar to places strange.  He did not stop, an eating inside him prompted him ever forward until there was nothing left.  He was not sure what he ran from.  Perhaps he fled the Black Pearl, perhaps he fled the grief.

Now he could not move to save his life.  Not that he cared, he was long past caring what he could and could not do.  Days on the move with nothing to eat or drink and no where to rest cleared his mind of all illusions of pleasure.  For was that not what pleasure was?  Merely an illusion?  

There had been a time, years before, when Jack had lived easily, happily even.  The ship was small and the crew smaller.  But both were trustworthy.  William too had been there, standing at his side, mocking him and pushing him to do better.  That life was too easy for Jack.  The division of plunder without complaint agitated him.  The pillaging of small ports long forgotten by the navies of the world was too easy.  The people fled before him without a stand, handed him the very things he wished for.  

It had been William who urged him to take command of the Black Pearl.  And it had been William who helped him earn it.  Irritably, Jack thought that William should have been captain, not he.

He rubbed at the kohl around his eyes.  Even that had its roots in William.  They had gone to India and Will had taken up with some dancer.  He returned to the ship the next morning a highly superstitious man with kohl smudged under his eyes.  When Jack asked, he told that it was meant to keep away evil spirits.  Jack adopted the habit almost immediately and continued to smear the kohl around his eyes long after William had given up the idea.

He balled his fists and pressed them against his eyes.  "What evil has it kept away now?"  He asked bitterly and bit his lip until he tasted blood.  

"No evil, for it cannot keep out which was already there."

Jack started in surprise at the answer and opened his eyes.  Leaning lazily against the frame of the door was a tall figure silhouetted against the light from the tavern.  He could not see his face.

"Who are you?"  Jack asked, too tired to reach for his weapons, too tired to even care what happened to him now.  

"What does it matter what my name is?"

Jack opened his mouth the answer, but before he could get a word out, the stranger spoke again.  The voice was familiar, but Jack could not think of neither the name nor the face to whom it belonged.  

"You can run from many things," the stranger said, "You are a pirate.  Running is your business."

"I don't run from anything," Jack replied, deadpan.  He closed his eyes again.  Let this man kill him, let him, he would not fight back.

"Then why do you run?  You cannot run from the truths of the world," he paused, as if choosing his next words carefully.  Or perhaps as if savoring them before he let them fly.  "Nor can you run from yourself, _James_."

"Who ARE you?"  Jack cried in anger and shock.  He climbed to his feet and reached for his weapons.  But if an answer came, he did not hear it.  The sudden rush of emotion and movement proved too much for his wearied body.  The world spun and he felt himself losing his balance.  Then all was silent and dark.

---

The dream was an ocean of grey images and scenes.  He was trapped in the garret of some small building, or perhaps it was a prison cell.  He could see the gallows from the window.  The shut window was smeared with trails of dust.  He made designs in the dust with his fingers, swirling designs like ancient runes that he did not know the meaning of.  Ghosts seemed to surround him, touch him, and pull at him.  Their voices cried out in strange tongues, shrieking tongues and singing tongues.  They were torturing him with their meaningless sounds, taunting him with their feather touches.  

He was in pain, great pain.  And he was cold, cold to the very essence of his bones.  He thought he saw his own blood pooling on the floor and catching in his hands, he thought he heard the laughter of the ghosts.  Tears spilled over from his eyes and mingled with the greyness of the dream world.  Someone came for him, grabbed his wrists roughly, bruising them with super human strength, and led him to the gallows.  The grey of the landscape deepened until he could see only the grey hangman and the grey noose. [1]

---

He woke to the dawn filtering through the haze of the stables.  He sat up slowly, keenly aware of the lack of food in his stomach.  He shook his head to clear his vision and stretched his arms above his head.  He took more care as he stood, becoming acutely aware of other parts of his body crying for attention.  He staggered toward the door and steadied himself against the frame.  An unpleasant lightheadedness caused his sight to swim and knees to weaken.  As his head at last began to clear, his memory surged forward as well.

A thousand questions threw themselves at him.  Who was that man?  That man who had known he had run, who had known his name?  Who was that man, Jack wondered as he reached into the pouch at his side, that had left him with enough money to get him from here to any port in the world?  

After he had had a meal, Jack bought himself a mug of rum and took it out behind the building.  He was in no mood for the raucous happiness brimming over inside.  He sat and leaned his back against the sun-warmed stones of the wall and tilted his head into the daylight.  He took a drink of the liquor and said aloud, "Forgive me, my friend, for living while you are gone."

He took a longer drink and added, "Forgive me for seeing your empty space beside me."

He stared at the remainder of the liquid in the mug and said, "Forgive me for grieving you and forgive me for still hearing you."

He raised the rum to his lips, but did not drink.  "Forgive me for not knowing what everything we did was for."

He finished off the drink and, taking an almost an obsessive care while doing so, set the mug down beside him.  Carefully, gingerly even, he lifted his pistol and held it in front of him.  "Forgive me for following you."

After a long pause, he stuck the barrel into his mouth and ran his tongue over the dirt-encrusted metal.

---

To be continued.

[1] If you enjoy dream interpretations, or if you just want to find the hidden meanings I am getting at by messing around with Jack's subconscious, check out this website: 


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